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Page 132
hood. Something would come out through a crack in that wall that would destroy him utterly, changing him so that he, in turn, would destroy everything and every one around him. Ian's hand trembled a little on the rein of his mount. The gray destrier reared and pawed the air and neighed. Ian swallowed and tightened his grip. The horrors gnawing away at the black wall were coming closer.
Actually, the time between Ian's comprehension of what the huntsman told him and the time the troop started was between ten and fifteen minutes. It took much longer to ride across the fields and pastures that separated them from the forest, but it was a far shorter time than was safe. Ian led the troop at a full gallop, and they followed, cursing and praying under their breaths that the horses would not spill them in the dark. By God's grace, only two men were lost to the troop. More took falls, but neither they nor their mounts were badly injured, and they remounted and followed. The gray horse never missed a step.
The moon rose. To the men who had been straining their eyes in what luminosity the starlight gave, it was light. Ahead, however, blackness loomed. Ian stared at it without comprehension, aware only of the little writhing things in the corners of his mind.
"Slower, master," the huntsman hissed. "The wood is near. Those we seek must have traveled far in the time I came afoot. They might hear us, or we might pass those who watch."
Near. The word caught Ian's attention and permitted him to listen and understand. He pulled in his horse. The beast resisted, sensing his quickened breath, his quivering eagerness. Again the stallion reared, bucked, lashed out. It was a blessing. While he fought his mount, the wriggling madness retreated a little. Reined in, the party approached the woods at a walk. Suddenly, a nightjar whistled almost in Ian's ear. Some distance south, a figure detached itself from the edge

 
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